Page 53 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

“You’re impossible.”

“And you married me,” he said, setting down his cup with a thud.

Her breath caught.

She hated how quick he was. How calm. How infuriatingly… attractive when he said things like that, his mouth just crooked enough to make her question if it was a threat or a promise.

“You don’t make it easy,” she said.

He leaned in slightly. “Do you want it easy?”

Her spine straightened. “I want it to make sense.”

He stood then, suddenly, and walked around the table. She turned in her chair, her napkin sliding to the floor, but neither of them moved to pick it up.

He stopped in front of her. Just close enough to steal the space between them.

“You want it to make sense,” he repeated, voice low.

She looked up at him, heart hammering against her ribs.

“Do you know where I slept last night?” she asked, quiet now. “In a room full of perfume, meant to be mine, that I don’t recognize. Dresses meant for me. I lay in a bed that didn’t feel mine, in a house that doesn’t feel like mine, married to a man I can’t predict. And I didn’t sleep. Not for a minute. Because I didn’t know if I was supposed to stay where I was or go to you. I didn’t know where I belonged.”

The words hung in the air like heat.

Ramsay watched her for a long moment. Something in his face shifted, and it became softer, almost careful.

“Were you awake,” he murmured, “thinking about spending the night with me?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it.That’s not what I?—

He stepped closer. “You could’ve knocked.”

“You could have come,” she whispered against all judgement.

He gave a quiet laugh. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“I don’t.” She stood now too. They were inches apart. “Not when you’re smug.”

He arched a brow. “So only when I’m apologetic and reverent.”

“Exactly.”

“Dangerous combination. Might make me obedient.”

“You?” She nearly laughed. “I’d like to see it.”

Their eyes locked, and something flickered. The tension between them tightened, pulled taut like a bowstring. Her breath shortened. His jaw flexed.

They weren’t touching, but she could feel the heat radiating between them like a storm on the verge of breaking.

He reached up, slowly, brushing one of her curls back from her face.

“There will always be room in my bed for you, lass,” he said, voice so low it scraped against her spine.

Her heart beat so loud she was sure he could hear it.

His hand was almost at her cheek now, his eyes darker than she remembered, the promise of something unspoken blooming in the air between them?—